


Don't look

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [77]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fire, Season/Series 06, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 05:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19863994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Echo pulls on her restraints, shifts her weight trying to get away from the torch and the pile of straw.





	Don't look

**Author's Note:**

> Because the wonderful ladies in the discord give me ideas.   
> Based on this:   
> "6x11 Echo spec: Echo will kill Ryker (a prime). Russell will put her on the stake. She’ll see the torch and a flashback of her as a child hiding with her mother will appear. The story she told Bellamy of mom telling her not to scream or they’ll hear her and her mother burning will happen. Russell will ignite her with the flames and she SCREAMS."

“Don’t look, bean.”

Echo pulls on the restraints, feels the rope biting into her wrists, keeping her hands firmly behind her back.

Papa had big hands covered in scars. Echo remembers sitting on his lap, tracing the white lines sneaking around his long fingers, up to his wrists. He liked to carve small designs on wood, and watching those fingers create was one of Echo’s favorite pastimes.

The villagers often bought his delicate spoons and ornate buckets. A little extra coin was always welcome.

Ma sold vegetables and cheese with Echo’s elder brothers and sisters, while she sat with her Papa.

“Don’t look.”

Papa didn’t sleep, which is why Echo spent so much time with him. Later she discovered the word was insomniac, but back then it was nights laying on the fields looking at the stars; Papa teaching her how to use a bow and laughing so hard tears would stream down his face; it was his big scarred hand on her shoulder, correcting her stance; long walks around the farm.

“I want to be a warrior when I grow old.”

“No, bean. You don’t.”

Papa was the gentlest man Echo ever knew.

He had been a soldier for twenty years when he finally hung up his sword and started living the life of a simple farmer. He married Ma, and they had four children. Echo remembers the sword hanging over her ’parents’ bed: worn leather and the hilt twisted and well balanced.

The basement smelled of earth and wine. She remembers seeing part of the sword through the cracks between the floorboards. Remembers Papa’s hand on her face. “Don’t look, bean.”

From all of her brothers, Ariel was always the most rebellious. He was loud and boisterous, had Papa’s bright yellow hair and Ma’s dark eyes. He was the only one brave enough to jump on the wild horses of the meadow, and the only one quick enough to catch fish with his bare hands.

His eyes were wide when the flames engulfed him. Ariel was still for the first time in his life.

Looking at the fire, she can nearly see those wide brown eyes staring back at her. Someone is talking, but Echo only hears Ma’s urgent voice: _Don’t cry. If you cry, you’re dead_. The warmth of the torch feels like Dita’s hand, wrapped around her face to keep Echo from making a peep.

Echo blinks, Ariel’s eyes vanish from the dancing depths of the fire. Her head is not held still in Dita’s hands. Instead, she is alone. Alone tied to a wooden stake, dry straw piled at her feet, the false god looking over her with the twist of self-righteousness about his lips.

Spymaster Murray used to have the same expression as he prowled between the young spies, his raiding crop ready to fall on any who misbehaved. Who spoke out of turn. Who dared question his teachings. “Through fire and blood, we defend Azgeda.”

Echo remembers the burn of that lesson. Holding her hands against the red-hot stone until Spymaster Murray was satisfied. Until there was only one left. All the kids wanted to be the last to break, but it was always Echo who lasted the longest. Who never screamed and never flinched.

Spymaster Murray was always proud. The other spies in training were always jealous. And she was always the best.

The good little spy.

The false god touches the torch to the straw: gold like Dita’s hair.

The fire crackles and giggles, just like Ariel’s laughter.

The good little spy.

“Don’t look, bean.”

Papa’s words echo in her head, she can feel his big hand cradling her cheek, see his soft eyes.

Oh, how disappointed he would be to see her turn into a spy for the same queen that burned his little farm.

Echo pulls on his restraints, but to no avail.

She can’t get loose, and there is nobody there to cut her free. The false god takes a step back, his face grim.

The flames nip at her heels, catch on her pants.

The pain is blinding.

_Don’t cry. If you cry, you’re dead._

Ma’s words smell just like her herb-garden did, and if she closes her eyes, Echo can nearly see it: sun-bathed and in full bloom: rows of flowers and plants with weird names and properties she never could keep straight. Dita loved that garden. Under her hands, anything would blossom. She liked to sing while tending to her garden.

Echo can’t remember DIta’s singing voice anymore. Only the shrill screams when the soldiers dragged her away.

Echo bites her tongue.

“Don’t look, bean.”

If she doesn’t look, she can pretend the fire isn’t biting her ankles, isn’t tearing into her legs. The smoke is just from Praimfaya, devouring the earth once and for all. “Your king, my man. Aren’t you sick of it? Praimfaya doesn’t care which clan you’re from.”

And just like that, her concentration shatters.

And the pain becomes real. The fire is real, not just Ariel’s raucous laughter.

The stench of burning flesh has her heaving.

Her eyes water when she looks down and sees the fire and hears fifty voices screaming in her head as her village is engulfed in flames.

She pulls on her restraints, desperate to get away. But she isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough to get herself free.

The flames gnaw at her legs, and the pain is like nothing she’s ever felt before.

Now that she has looked, she can’t tear her eyes away.

“Don’t cry. If you cry, you’re dead.”

_Echo screams._

Spymaster Murray twists his lips in disappointment. “You broke, Echo. What use do I have for a broken spy?”

_Echo screams._

“Silence, girl!”

“Disappointing”

“You will shame our clan ever again.”

_Echo screams._

The flames are waist-high, the pain unbearable. She can barely seep through the tears and smoke, but still, she sees Roan riding into the field, bow at the ready. Through the cacophony of voices, she hears Papa’s voice calling her name.

The fire vanishes suddenly, but the pain remains and strong hands catcher when her hands are suddenly cut free.

She looks up at starry cheeks and terrified eyes.

Her voice has gone out with the flames, but the traces of her weakness are still fresh on her cheeks.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” and her heart stutters at the sound of that voice. “I got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was unbeta'd.  
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting


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